


ain't no sunshine

by moaningmyrtle



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Karaoke, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moaningmyrtle/pseuds/moaningmyrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I bet they weren't expecting that voice to come from a guy like you.”</p><p>With eyebrows raised, Oliver finished what was left in the tall glass before asking, “A guy like me?”</p><p>“You know,” Connor was tipsy, could feel the warmth flowing through his veins and causing words to spill out before they were filtered through the part of his mind that decided what was appropriate, “A little geeky, kinda shy- and don't get me wrong, hot as hell.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://youtu.be/H3NRXEK2nVk
> 
> http://youtu.be/HMH5cPoBUzA
> 
> the two songs referenced were actually covers by conrad ricamora!

Beauty and eloquence; neither existed inside the four walls of a sleazy bar, dimly lit and filled with noises of nothingness. Faces could no longer be seen in clear detail, sharp cheekbones and blue eyes hidden by the illusion of a party, the reality too disheartening to consider. 

 

The floors were sticky with spilled drinks and dirty high heels, nowhere to breathe in a crowd that refused to quiet, no one interested in genuine conversation- words were exchanged over glasses of liquor that made it less of a challenge to pretend like this was ‘fun,’ like it wasn't an excuse to forget about your stress and push aside your problems. 

 

A make-shift stage invited up those who’d let alcohol imitate confidence, suddenly brave enough to wrap their fingers around a sweaty mic and sing along to lyrics that sped across an old machine, no shame left as it’d been replaced by a false bravo. 

 

The night carried on in a blurry haze while Connor forced the tone-deaf covers of hit singles to become nothing more than background noise, easier to ignore after he’d ordered his third shot. If this dead-end city offered a cheaper pub, he would've been there- there was surely nothing worse than karaoke night, and if there was, he didn't wasn't to see nor experience it.

 

The bartender raised his eyebrows while he slid another vodka-water across the greasy counter, scanning the bar and noting that Connor was the only one who'd come completely alone- there was no one in his life that he'd subject to this, so yeah, he'd arrived to keep his own company. 

 

"I'd say it's almost your turn."

 

A moment passed before he plucked the straw from his glass and let it fall, a sarcastic laugh slipping from his curled lips, “Right- and you've been up on that stage how many times?”

 

“Fair point,” The man behind the bar conceded, taking the five dollar bill he'd been holding out over the counter, replacing it with a handful of change and a quick nod; nothing beat a two dollar drink, and maybe that’s why Connor had been sitting in this bar for so long- however, if, someone else decided to belt out yet another version of Journey, it’d inevitably be his final glass.

 

A stumbling college student yelled out a loud ‘hurrah,’ but there was no one paying attention to her, no one to care that she simply couldn't sing because they'd all stopped listening minutes ago. With the microphone in hand, she began to thrust it at unwilling participants, until Connor had caught sight of a group of friends pushing one unlucky mate towards her offer.

 

“No, no,” The man had waved his arms in defiant refusal, but they'd all had too much to drink, no idea of personal boundaries left in their intoxicated minds; a moment later, shoved up onto the raised surface, the only man who seemed completely sober in this bar cleared his voice and faced an inattentive audience. 

 

“Uh, shit,” The man mumbled a moment after he'd fumbled the microphone and caused a loud squeak to ring out over the speakers- the people closest to him flinched and covered their ears, groaning, and soon he'd gathered the attention that he so desperately didn't want.

 

Another minute passed as the man nervously clicked through a list of songs that Connor couldn't see, but he could only assume the options weren't exactly appealing by the concerned expression evident across his face.

 

Finally, the music began to play- it was the first that Connor both recognized and didn't completely despise; not exactly modern or well known, but he was a sucker for the classic sound of Bill Withers. 

 

A few tables muttered something about the man onstage walking straight out of the seventies, sporting a pair of bold yellow suspenders over a tight white shirt and choosing something no longer relevant to at least seventy five percent of the crowd. The weak willed insults caused Connor to roll his eyes, and with a pang of sympathy, he spun his stool towards the singer.

 

“Ain't no sunshine when he's gone,” The man started to sing, and instant shivers ran across Connor’s skin, raising bumps along his arm; the voice that escaped his lips was nothing like he'd expected to erupt from the timid stranger, and while his eyes were on the ground and his fingers shook around the microphone, it didn't take away from the low drawl that immediately surprised half the crowd, “It's not warm when he’s away.”

 

Maybe it was because Connor was working on his fourth drink, or possibly because he’d heard so many terrible attempts in the past hour, but the singer had caught his full attention; there was no chance that he could look away now, watching as the stranger shifted his feet and continued, “Ain't no sunshine when he's gone, and he's always gone too long, anytime that he goes away.”

 

“Wonder this time where he’s gone.”

 

The lyrics appeared to mean more to him than anyone could tell, his eyes shutting tight as his hands wrapped tighter around the microphone and he lowered his voice, “I wonder if he's gone to stay.”

 

"Ain't no sunshine when he's gone, and this house just ain't no home-” 

 

A voice crack threatened his composure, but he pushed through it and hit just the right notes, “anytime that he goes away.” 

 

The next verse was what he’d been waiting for, but he’d never imagined him to pull it off in a way that not even Wither’s could perform. ‘And I know, I know,’ rang out, over and over, until Connor was breathlessly impressed and wondering how the singer was still managing to keep his rhythm; what followed was both nearly yelled and yet carried through perfectly, “Hey, I oughta leave this young thing alone! Cause there ain't no sunshine, when he’s gone.”

 

Finally, the singer lifted his head and looked up; flashing a nervous and somewhat dorky half-smile, the crowd erupted with drunken cheering and enthusiastic clapping, so much so that even Connor brought his palms together in encouragement. 

 

As he walked off stage and passed the microphone to someone who surely would never match that performance, the stranger abandoned the group that had coerced him to sing and instead wandered towards the bar.

 

It wasn't in Connor’s range of self restraint to pretend he wasn't staring, or possibly gawking; the stranger, however, didn't seem to notice a thing as he slid into a stool and rested his elbows on the counter.

 

“Let me get you a drink,” Connor leaned over a bit, catching the stranger completely off guard; it quickly became evident that he wasn't at all practiced in the art of getting hit on at bars, “You've got one hell of a voice.”

 

The alluring blush that had been lingering on his cheeks only deepened with colour, a moment spent trying to figure out why Connor had even noticed him in the first place, “Oh, uh, you really thought so?”

 

“Sure did,” Connor nodded casually as he sipped at his own drink, gesturing to the shelves behind the bar, filled with bottles and glasses , “What're you havin'?"

 

“You don't have too-"

 

“You're the first person I've heard tonight that didn't cause me physical pain,” Connor teased light heartedly, and Oliver attempted to brush off the compliment with a nonchalant laugh, soft and contagious, “Just- let me get you hammered, alright?”

 

And so they did- he ordered a Tom Collins, a drink that would've made Bill Wither’s proud, and after just a bit of pestering, eventually admitted, “It’s Oliver. I, uh, just moved here actually- that group over there is a bunch of coworkers I just met.”

 

“What a way to bond,” Connor commented, and then quickly added, “I bet they weren't expecting that voice to come from a guy like you.”

 

With eyebrows raised, Oliver finished what was left in the tall glass before asking suspiciously, “A guy like me?”

 

“You know,” Connor was tipsy, could feel the warmth flowing through his veins and causing words to spill out before they were filtered through the part of his mind that decided what was appropriate, “A little geeky, kinda shy- and don't get me wrong, hot as hell.” 

 

They ordered two more.

 

Another two- the bar was starting to clear out now, emptying as they remained; the karaoke eventually switched back to a radio station, and neither wanted to leave just yet.

 

“So,” Oliver was slurring a bit now, not nearly as clear as he’d been when he was singing, “What else is there to do in Philadelphia?”

 

The question brought to mind the realization that Connor, apart from drinking at the bar and juggling piles of homework and an actual job, didn't do much at all. Just like Oliver, he knew nothing about the city he lived in, and shrugged, “No idea- wanna find out?”

 

“It's like, two thirty in the morning,” Oliver noted with a chuckle, peering around the room and finally noticing that they were one of the last few still hanging around, “What are we gunna do?”

 

It turned out, as they finally stumbled out of the bar doors, that they didn't need to go far to continue enjoying their night. The numerous drinks that they’d chugged back as if they were water caused even the city sidewalks to seem interesting.

 

Coloured lights from above reflected off of Oliver’s glasses as they tumbled against each other, even a slight brush of their skin together sending fireworks off beneath Connor’s chest. There was nothing about Oliver that didn't entertain him; his laugh was just as charming as the way he’d sung strong and yet smooth, and it'd been a while since he'd talked to someone so genuine, so magnetic.

 

“Sing somethin’ else,” Connor prodded him, nudging Oliver gently with his shoulder as they turned away from Main Street and wandered into a poorly lit park, shadowed by the trees overheard- the emptiness of the area didn't bother either man, both too intoxicated on both alcohol and their current company to care, “Or did you, I don't know, practice that for hours before you grabbed that mic?”

 

“They didn't even tell me it was a karaoke bar!” Oliver defended himself while stumbling over his own feet, flashing a dramatic expression as if he'd truly been offended, “Alright, okay-.”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“Sh, sh- don't make me laugh.”

 

“Shit,” Connor brought a hand to cover his own mouth, stifling a smile because he truly did want to hear just a little bit more.

 

They were standing alone in the park, surrounded by nothing but trees, bushes, and benches, and Oliver cleared his voice with an overly acted out cough as if preparing himself for an entire audience, “We're just ordinary people, we don't know which way to go.”

 

Here they came once again, those tiny bumps that rose the hair on Connor’s arms; there was something about his voice, his rhythm, his sureness, “Cause we're just ordinary people, maybe we should take it slow.”

 

Abruptly ending, Oliver was seemingly considering an idea in his own thoughts before he took a step closer, a step that Connor wasn't expecting but was more than welcomed. It was as if time had suddenly slowed, the seconds passing and yet he’d seen a thousand different things; Oliver’s gaze was fixated on his mouth, and Connor was suddenly admiring every little bit about him- dark eyes, a small smile, barely-there freckles against tan skin, a smudge on the lens of his glasses, his rounded nose between rosy cheeks and a tongue, his tongue, swiping quickly across his own lips. 

 

There wasn't much more than an inch of space between the two, both their heart beats racing faster and breath becoming harder to find, a challenge to inhale. When they’d reached so close that Connor could feel his warmth against his own lips, it was too much to hold back- with palms that itched to explore more, he pulled Oliver towards him and filled the little distance left. 

 

They fell into each other in the dark, the sounds of distant traffic nothing compared to the gentle moan against his mouth while Oliver gave in to his loose grip- it was in the middle of that park that they lost themselves completely, kissing until they'd forgotten what air was, until their only thoughts revolved around the other’s, until where they were was no longer relevant. Neither had ever experienced a rush similar to now, as if a flame had been lit from the inside and there was no way to dampen it, sure that it’d soon become a full blown forest fire.

 

“I could fall in love with someone like you,” Oliver whispered against his lips, not a second after they’d broken apart, both breathless and wide eyed, “I swear, I'll probably fall in love with you.” 

 

It was probably a confession formed from the influence of the liquor, but Connor’s heart slammed against his chest, “Can we- where's you apartment?”

 

“A block from here,” Oliver was still flying above reality, his entire body buzzing as they stared at each other with hunger caught behind their shared stare, “It's empty, but-”

 

“Doesn't matter,” Connor blurted out, overwhelmed by his desire to feel more, see more; a floor was all that they would need.

 

-

 

Apart from the hardwood, there was a mattress, a lamp that neither man bothered to turn on, and a single set of curtains that blocked the view of strangers on the street below. 

 

“Over here,” Connor murmured into Oliver’s ear as they toppled against a wall, using what balance he had to tug the jacket from Oliver's shoulders and leaving it a mess on the floor- they hadn't even had the chance to take off their shoes. 

 

It was Oliver who pushed him back, and for a short minute, Connor was terrified that this would be the end- to his surprise, he reached foreword and began to unbutton his top, one clasp at a time. The speed was due to his fumbling fingers, skin growing hotter and the flame beneath rising higher; as his shirt fell beside Oliver’s jacket, they immediately met each other lips once more.

 

“These suspenders? Fuckin’ sexy,” Connor mumbled into his neck, letting his teeth graze the soft spot beneath his ear, “Leave them on.”

 

A groan of pleasure was the only response he needed to hear, and they both laughed breathlessly as their craving hands travelled down to zippers- before he tugged them down to his feet, Connor nodded to the kitchen. 

 

A curious expression caused him to smile, and Oliver’s eyebrows raised with interest, “Serious?”

 

Instead of justifying his question with a reply, Connor set his hands behind Oliver’s thighs and lifted him up onto his hips- it wasn't until they'd reached the bar table that they pulled apart, grinding against each other as Oliver wrapped his legs around Connor and let slip an ‘oh, God,’ when he slid his ass closer to the edge of the counter, only to have a better vantage point.

 

Unable or unwilling to tease any longer, Connor couldn't listen to Oliver’s sweet noises of nothing in particular without finishing the job. 

 

“Fuck it,” he growled, tugging him off the counter and onto his unsteady feet; Oliver’s jaw was open and eyes wide and Connor got down on his knees in front of him, staring up and meeting his state as he did so- sliding the zipper down the rest of the way, he slowly loosened his pants until they fell to where he still was wearing shoes, and took those off just as painfully slow.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that- oh, fuck- you’re a bit of a- oh my god, tease?”

 

Flashing a playful wink, Connor was doing nothing more now than licking long damp stripes up the inside of his thighs, and yet beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he could clearly see that Oliver was more than enjoying his ‘teasing.’ 

 

The game, however, didn't last for much longer- with his palms gripped tight around Oliver’s, he caught him off guard with a rough spin, turning him towards the wall behind the counter. One hand on his back and the other still lingering between his legs, Connor coerced his stomach against the cool tiles and used his free hand to spread his legs farther apart until he was completely bent over the surface, begging for more.

 

“Please,” Oliver's breath was hitched and quick, as if he couldn't take it anymore, like the one thing he needed now was to make use of his vulnerable position, “I need-”

 

Connor had his fingers looped just beneath the band that held his boxers up, pulling them down so slowly that Oliver sounded near tears with anticipation, “Yeah? What do you need, Ollie.”

 

“Fuck,” His groan was caught between excitement and frustration as Connor let his tongue roam once more, back down on his knees, behind him and still only having the underwear hanging around his thighs- that didn't stop him from tracing his free fingers down where he’d just made wet, “You are, you're a god damn tease.”

 

“You're voice was a tease,” Connor countered, having remembered watching Oliver perform on that makeshift stage and fighting off the urge to drag him into a bathroom stall right then and there; taking a tight hold of his suspenders, Connor pushed himself up from the floor and ran his palms over Oliver’s arched body, down his back and cupping his ass, “Don’t move.”

 

And he didn't- with his palms pressed against the counter’s surface, Oliver found that waiting while Connor rummaged through his coat pockets only made it that much better when he returned; it wasn't what he’d expected, however, to find that Connor had ripped off his own boxers on the trip.

 

Pressed up against him, using the tips of his nails to scratch pale red lines down his back, Connor leaned over his back and confirmed his only suspicion, “You’ve done this?”

 

“Never with someone like you,” Oliver tried to tease back now, but it was the way that he’d breathed it out in a whispery and authentic voice that sent shivers down Connor’s spine; he was really into him, and this was a night neither would be able to forgot for a long time. 

 

\- 

 

They’d seemingly passed out in the same clothes they'd been wearing after round three; absolutely nothing. When he’d woken up with the sun rise coming in through the large windows, a slight panic brought him to an instant awareness, and a heavy pounding at the back of his head quickly followed- it only took about half a minute before he remembered why he was completely naked, in an empty apartment, with the hollow sound of a light snore beside him. 

 

“Holy shit,” Connor muttered under his breath, peering around the largely impressive room that Oliver had yet to furnish; it was beautiful, open concept with a kitchen bar that he’d hopefully remember to thoroughly clean before cooking. The peeking stopped when his eyes landed on a pair of abandoned jeans and shirt, and every part of him began to pray that they weren't squeaky floorboards. 

 

Nothing he’d done before had ever quite matched last night- it was jaw-dropping, breathtaking, scream so loud that the neighbours can hear you kind of sex, and not even the numerous drinks could’ve caused him to forget it. Staring down at Oliver, fast asleep with his toned ass just barely covered by a thin white sheet, he had to wonder if he’d think the same. While the hours before they’d burst through his apartment doors remained a hazy blur, a part of him hoped that he’d made an impression. 

 

With quick and practiced hands, he dressed himself quietly and discretely like he’d done many times before- this wasn't exactly a routine that was new to Connor, only the time they’d spent together was a bit different that his other experiences; it wasn't until last night that he'd been out with someone who'd actually made him laugh, smile, feel a rush, and end a date with what could've been literal fireworks. At a karaoke bar, he would've never expected to go home with someone who could actually sing, and damn if Oliver’s voice wouldn't bounce around in his daydreams for the next few days. 

 

Silent as he could be, Connor stuffed his wallet and phone back into their rightful spots and crept out the door; one last peek at Oliver might’ve held him back a minute, but class started in less than an hour and he couldn't spend the entire morning wishing that he had the balls to take a picture; it wasn't exactly justifiable, but he would've loved to hold onto that memory for just a while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Narrowed eyes, brows raised, an invitation hidden behind a suggestive smile- it was that distinct look he'd seen many times before, that obvious message that he was desperately trying to convey. It wouldn’t have been a challenge to nod to the door, flag down a cab, and quickly find their way back to his empty apartment. There wasn't any obligation to exchange numbers, last names, hopes and dreams- it was simple.

 

What wasn't as simple was a sudden and overwhelming feeling that he couldn't explain. It didn't take longer than a few minutes before Connor found himself questioning why the stranger's laugh didn't sound quite right, why his grin appeared too wide, too unauthentic. There was something off-putting about the way he spoke too smoothly, confident and sure of himself as if this were the type of interaction he lived for. It was the exact type of guy he so often dealt with, the type to spend a night tangled between his sheets and disappear before the sun rose- a type just like him.

 

"Oh, shit," Connor mumbled as he looked down at his phone  with fake dismay, shaking his head as if the empty inbox he was staring at held dramatic news, "Sorry- you know what, I gotta go. Thanks for the drink, uh-"

 

The stranger's expression fell to that of disappointment, "Mark?"

 

"Right," Connor nodded weakly and noted that it didn't matter anyways, avoiding eye contact while sliding off the bar-stool. It'd only been an hour, possibly less, since he'd sat down, but the entire time had felt somewhat wrong; sixty long and drawn out minutes were spent peeking through the crowd and over people's heads, looking for someone that just wasn't going to show up, someone who wore glasses that didn't fit quite right, someone that could flash a smile and send his heart into a standstill.

 

 Pushing past the crowd of those who had too much to drink, he felt horribly sober- this was a rare occasion, to leave a place like this completely alone and without that familiar buzz he so often craved. While Friday nights were usually a perfectly valid excuse to go out and forget that Monday followed three days later, a series of reoccurring thoughts were forming a challenge he'd never been faced with before.

 

The cement beneath his boots was glossy, wet from the relentless downpour that hadn't let up, and a cool wind was sneaking beneath Connor's jacket and chilling his skin- staring absently up at dark storm clouds, a starless sky, he began to mumble lyrics that had been stuck in his head for days, "Ain't no sunshine…"

 

It was while he sung that his problem finally came together, made sense; his feet glued themselves to the sidewalk as a realization hit home- he wasn't done with Oliver, wasn't ready to forget about their hours spent sharing stories and brief touches, only one night but it had felt like much more. That voice, those eyes, the way he'd made Connor squirm with rarely-felt emotions; he couldn't carry on without seeing him one last time. Maybe it was selfish, possibly insane, but at that exact moment, he turned around and headed back towards a place that he'd remembered all too well.

 

 -

 

Nine floors, eighty-six rooms, and all that Connor could recall now was the view from the window, when he'd been pressed up against it. There was a machine on the wall, a speaker that could reach any given apartment in the building, but he didn't know what to push or where to start.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

A familiar voice from behind caught him off-guard, and Connor spun on his heels; drenched from the rain and shivering from the cold, they stared back at each other- at first, Oliver almost appeared happy to see him, but it didn't take longer than a second before whatever joy he'd had quickly transitioned into something far from. Instead of that smile he'd been so desperately wanting to see again, he was welcomed with a new expression, one that spoke volumes and not in the way he'd expected.

 

"Actually, I came to see you," Connor replied slowly and unsure, trying to decipher what he'd done that could've caused Oliver's evident anger, no doubt in his mind that he was pissed off and unprepared. What had seemed like one hell of a good night didn't appear mutual, "I thought maybe we could, you know, make use of your kitchen one more time before you actually furnished the place."

 

There was a couple grocery bags that Oliver immediately gestured too, holding them with white-knuckles and curled fists; his response came out short and tight-lipped, "I'm cooking, so probably not."

 

It wasn't enough to send Connor away just yet, smiling a devilish grin and considering a less-than-appropriate idea, "Well, what about-"

 

"I'm exhausted," Oliver interrupted him with a harsh tone that Connor had not yet heard, appearing not at all amused by the way he was trying perilously to flirt, to casually brush off his obvious discomfort. Reaching for a key in his pocket, he brushed past him with a cold shoulder and headed towards the entrance, "You need anything else?"

 

This wasn't how Connor had assumed their interaction would play out, imagining that he would've been nothing but eager; he couldn't help but remember how many times Oliver had mumbled 'I could do this forever,' the night they'd spent together. Apparently forever didn't last very long.

 

 "Shit," Connor muttered, running a hand through his damp hair and struggling for the right words to continue with, wondering if he should continue at all. Just before Oliver had closed the door behind him, he fumbled through his wallet and pulled out a business card that he'd been waiting to hand out at the law firm, "Wait- here. When you change your mind, give me a call."

 

There was no attempt to reach for it, Oliver staring absently down at his outstretched hand, not voicing whatever thoughts were currently racing through his mind. Sighing, Connor gave up and dropped it into one of his grocery bags; it wasn't exactly preferred, and at this point he could easily tell that the chances of that card staying out of the garbage were closer to zero, but some desperate part of him didn't want to risk it.

 

It was as if there were a million things that Oliver wanted to say, his gaze trailing from Connor's empty hand and up to his face, but not one word spilled from his lips. With a short-lived look over his shoulder, his expression finally softened, but it didn't come off as excited or enthusiastic. More than anything, he just seemed sad- the door shut with a quiet slam before he slipped away, wandering tiredly towards the elevator with his head held low.

 

-

 

The emptiness of his apartment was daunting, and at times, the silence held the ability to drive Connor mad. Restless and aching for some sort of noise, anything to distract him, he cracked open a window and sat on the ledge, listening to the speeding cars and far-away honks, strangers yelling and rain drops pattering against glass.  While a drink would've been more than welcomed, nothing but take-out and salad dressing filled his refrigerator, and so he'd settled for a coffee that was rapidly becoming cold.

 

Memories played over in his mind like a movie that he wouldn't watch, a stereotypical script about   a single man that lives in the city and can't seem to find a sense of prosperity. Why had it gone so well and ended so horribly- maybe that was all that a one-night-stand was good for, and he'd pushed it too far by coming back around. It was a first for him, and certainly would be his last attempt at making one night turn into two.

 

When his cellphone rang at around three in the morning, Connor's eyebrows furrowed with curiosity- hurrying  across the room with quick steps, he ran his finger across the screen and lifted the speaker to his ear, "Hello?"

 

"Connor, hey," Oliver's voice had lost it's earlier rage, now gentle and yet distant, "I, uh, was a dick earlier- sorry about that."

 

A moment passed as he reveled in a sense of comfort, and while it didn't make much sense to find relief in the voice of someone who was still somewhat of a stranger, Connor couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest before replying, "Yeah, I must not have been as good as I remembered. But hey, that's what a few drinks will do to you, right?"

 

"You were…" Oliver hung off his own statement, stopping himself before he spoke the word 'perfect,' deciding to change his response, "You were fine."

 

That wasn't much of a compliment, Connor thought, but Oliver was nothing if not honest; it was what had attracted him in the first place, his genuine attitude and blunt statements, the way he refused to filter his opinions. Now, it stung a bit to hear.

 

 "So- is there a reason you don’t want to do it again? I wasn't planning some romantic proposal, just thought it'd be fun to hook-up," Connor commented as nonchalantly as he could manage, and for a minute long, the speaker offered nothing but unsteady breathing.

 

"I think I momentarily fell for you the other night, and I just- I'm not that kind of guy, Connor."

 

The kind of guy who shamelessly separated physical and emotional feelings, the kind of guy who could leave without so much of a trace that he'd ever been there, the kind of guy that Connor had always been. It was so easy for him to pretend like sex didn’t mean a thing, like it was nothing more than a way to relieve stress, a way to get off- Oliver wasn't that kind of guy.

 

While he'd wanted to apologize, to justify what he'd done, to suggest some sort of explanation, he simply couldn't. There was a lump building in his throat, a dryness inside his mouth, and no words were coming out now, all the confidence that he'd built up dissipating in a matter of seconds.

 

"Anyways," Oliver filled the lull with a tone too casual, like he hadn't just broken Connor's previously shatter-proof heart, "Thanks for the offer, but uh, I don’t think I'm what you're looking for. Have a good night, Connor."

 

The line fell dead, a long ring following Oliver's abrupt hang up; it continued for a while before Connor finally let his hand drop to his lap. That was who he was, someone who didn't care what impression he left with other's, just the asshole in the bar that couldn't give a shit about anything other than his own narcissistic desires. The anger that he'd been met with earlier wasn't because he hadn't been a decent lay, it was a reasonable reaction to being left in the dust. Not a phone number left behind, not a note or a reminder, not a kiss goodbye- he'd already become a bad memory.

 

It'd been years and years since he'd considered the idea of love, not even sure if it held a definition to him anymore, if he was capable of falling for someone. If he did, would he even recognize it happening? Or would it just be another thing to ignore, to push to the back of his mind and replace with another naked body, another meaningless night.

 

'I could fall in love with someone like you,' he'd whispered to him, and the words had flown right over Connor's head. Under the table and three sheets in the wind, he'd brushed the statement off as if it meant nothing, sure that it was a drunken fluke, but that wasn't who Oliver was. The confessions he'd spilled weren't empty nor futile, the way he'd kissed with passion and heat wasn't just an attempt to get them to a bedroom faster- it wasn't a game to him, it was real.

 

The phone screen lit up with an unexpected text, one that sent into Connor's chaotic thoughts a mix of shame, concern, and thrill.

 

_'Screw it- For another night with you, I can be that type of guy.'_

 


	3. Chapter 3

The door opened, and there he was again, looking out at him as if Connor should've been doing something, doing anything other than standing stiff like a brick wall. For a moment, everything felt a bit wrong, and he didn't immediately step through the frame; it wasn't what Oliver had expected, raising his brows with a justifiable curiosity, "Are you coming in, or-"

 

"Listen," Connor stopped him with the blunt comment, and though his words were shaky, unsure, he forced them out, "I- I don’t want you to be anything that you aren't."

 

The response isn't one that he'd expected, and Oliver didn't need to say a thing in order to prove a point; with a crooked smile, he reached foreword and trailed his hand tauntingly slow down Connor's side, eventually tightening his grip in order to pull him through the door frame. Before he'd had the chance to say more, express what exactly had gone through his mind before he'd knocked, there was lips against his own, on his neck, shoulders, jaw.

 

A soft moan escaped Connor's range of self control before he'd even known what was happening, this daring and bold presence something that he hadn't seen before, hadn't assumed that Oliver had a side to him so audacious- there was no coherent words spoken as they tumbled against the same wall they'd fallen into once already, switching positions now as he mumbled into his ear, "Sometimes, I think it's better to just stop caring."

 

It wasn't what Connor had been trying to convey at all, the opposite of it to be more specific, but Oliver was speaking hushed and low as if trying to drive him into a frenzy, his hand travelling down his shirt; the buttons opened one by one while he fought and failed to catch his breath, not given one second of calm before his chest was bare and the fabric crumpled on the floor.

 

A part of him still didn't know whether this was truly okay, and as Oliver began to tear off his own clothes in an attempt to speed this whole process up a notch, he took the chance to take a step backwards and raise his hands, "Hold on, Oliver. You're sure this is what you wa-"

 

"Take off your pants," Oliver cut him off, nodding down to where his jeans were riding his waist line- it  was the kind of command that caused Connor's blood to race, heart to stammer, thoughts to disappear into a suggestive and highly inappropriate section of his mind, a place that he was trying to avoid, "Or, did you really want to talk?"

 

A reply was caught in Connor's throat as he watched from less than a foot away; Oliver was tugging the zipper down on his own pants, licking his lips as he did so, a gaze moving from his face to his chest, and further down while a flutter battered beneath his ribcage- talking no longer seemed relevant, "Fuck it."

 

The only conversation that followed was a series of 'right there,' or 'yeah, like that,' and more than a few times,  'god, don’t stop.' It was an hour caught between passionate and rushed, never able to feel enough, touch enough, both acting as though their time together was limited. They didn't kiss as much this time around, their lips busy with other purposes and places

 

It wasn't quite as loving nor innocent, something switching in the way that he'd treated Connor before, but that didn't mean they weren't completely consumed by the other's body. Oliver didn't seem interested in the romance anymore, no longer worried about affection and instead focusing on intensity, on carnal instinct.

 

-

 

They were both lying on the mattress, but it wasn't like the first time- their legs weren't entangled, they'd redressed enough so that they were respectively covered, and both stared up at the ceiling instead of at each other.

 

"I don't mean to pry," Connor said after a few minutes of a somewhat comfortable silence, fighting the urge to roll onto his side and face Oliver- it was evident now that he was trying to keep things casual, not so serious, and a worry arose that he might ruin the mood, "Well, I kind of do- what made you change your mind?"

 

A moment passed while Oliver considered the question in his own mind, and Connor couldn't help but wonder what it is that he'd been thinking- not quite as simple to read his thoughts now, his expression remained neutral and emotions weren't obvious with everything that he did. It didn't sound sincere as he responded with a matter-of-fact tone, "I think I've been waiting for someone that doesn't exist- I mean, life isn't as black and white as I thought it was. Not in the city, anyways."

 

'Someone that doesn't exist,' he repeated silently, and a pit lowered itself into his stomach- what was it exactly that he was looking for, and if he didn't exist, what did that make Connor? Was he settling for less, taking what he could because it was better than being alone?

 

"So, like- what exactly is it that you'd thought you'd find?"

 

It doesn't surprise him when Oliver suddenly changes the subject, trying to ignore the fact that maybe Connor's question had dug too deep, "Uh- do you need a ride home? I've got a car, and it's pretty late."

 

The realization finally comes to mind- Oliver didn't want him to sleep here, didn't want him to stay for a coffee or a snack, didn't want to think about what he'd just done. The pit in his stomach grows, grumbles, and twists.

 

"You shouldn't stop looking," He ignored his offer and continues, fidgeting with the sheets barely draped over his legs while they speak to the drywall above their heads, "There's nothing stopping you from thinking the way you do- I mean, if sex means more to you than what it means to other people, that's just…I don't think it's the worse thing you could do."

 

Where there should've been an answer came another question, one shot right back at Connor and finally turning the tables; it wasn't as if he'd been harsh about it, more so curious as he asked, "When did you stop? Like, when did you learn how to put feelings into one category, and sex into another."

 

Categories was an odd way to phrase it- he thought of it more like they'd always come separately, ever since his teen years, unable to remember a distinct time and place where he'd promptly decided that he didn't exactly need to admire the people that crawled into his bed. What confused him more was how to put the two together, how to fall in love with someone who'd recently shared time between his sheets, how it was possible that two people made a commitment.

 

Not much thought went into his impulse reaction, "Love, feelings, whatever- they're messy, hard to deal with. Shit isn't always a fairytale."

 

"Never?"

 

"Not in my experience," Connor conceded with a sigh, an honest sigh that caused him to think back on everyone he'd ever been with, not remembering one instance in which they could've passed for a love-story; things fell apart, and unlike what people say, did not get better, "You- you care if I just crash here?"

 

A small smile curled and faded in a matter of seconds, and Oliver seemingly ignored the pang of excitement before reminding himself of Connor's previous comments; a shrug is what he eventually responds with, an off-hand an impulse gesture that might as well have been a yes or a no, "Doesn't matter- either way, I'm burned out. Uh- thanks for a fun time?"

 

It'd been painfully obvious that Oliver had just assumed this would be yet another morning where he'd inevitably wake up alone, and Connor flinched at the half-assed compliment. There was a part of him relentlessly screaming at his subconscious, 'just leave,' but he doesn’t- he doesn’t want to destroy Oliver's idea of city men, or maybe it's more just one city man in particular, but he thought for a moment before giving in to exhaustion, drained and well-spent.

 

-

 

There was no indication of where Oliver had gone when an alarm clock went off and Connor found himself alone, immediately turning to find the mattress empty. The smell of fresh coffee was floating throughout the apartment, and with a tired groan, pushed himself up from the sheets and wandered across the room.

 

One mug was empty, another filled to the brim as if it'd been waiting for him- peering around, a part of him hoped to find a note, a number, but there was nothing but caffeine and the emptiness that he'd been left with. Only one pair of shoes sat at the door, only one coat, only his clothes left in a messy pile by the bed; Oliver was dressed, awake, and gone before the clock had even reached eight.

 

Shrugging, he decidedly couldn't leave behind a perfectly good coffee; there was no where to sit, the entire area still unfurnished and spotless, and so he leaned on the windowsill and let a breeze travel through the screen. No one could see this high up, hopefully, because he wasn't wearing more than a pair of boxers, staring down at strangers hurrying off to work along the sidewalks.

 

A certain sense of guilt was weighing him down as he sipped slowly and briefly peered over at the door, not admitting to himself that it was because he was waiting for Oliver to come back. The night before had been fun, a release, a way to spend a boring Friday night, but it hadn't been the same- he wanted it to be the same, feel like it had the day they'd met. Those shivers when he'd sung, the light inside his chest whenever he'd smile, they just weren't there anymore.

 

"Shit," Connor mumbled to himself, setting the coffee down as he ran unsteady fingers through a messy head of hair; Oliver would've done anything to spend another night together, even if it meant pretending like he could pull off a one-night stand attitude, keeping it short and sweet and to the point. Not having realized it before now, it became tortuously obvious that he would've acted different, would've treated him like more than a quick fuck, if he hadn't first taken off with no word, no thank-you, nothing to remember him by.

 

Now, he was getting a little taste of how it felt, and Oliver probably left thinking that this was exactly what he wanted- to wake up and feel as though he didn't owe anything to anyone, to be free and walk away with no further thoughts or worries. Instead, he didn't yet want to leave without reconciliation, a sweet goodbye, a morning round-two.

 

After twenty minutes, maybe thirty, had passed without so much as a noise from the hallway, Connor sighed and began to pick up his clothes- Oliver wasn't coming back, plain and simple. For a minute or two, he absently ran his thumb over at contact number in his phone and considered sending a text, but nothing he wrote seemed applicable or necessary. It was everything that had already been said, or just didn't need to be said in the first place- it was nonsense, grasping at straws for another conversation, another confirmation that he hadn't fucked up.

 

Finally, with no hope left and little else to do, he tugged a watch off from around his wrist, the one he'd spent months saving for and hadn't taken off in years, the one that meant more to him than his own damn car- it was immature, childish at best, but Connor figured that if a little piece of him was left behind, something that he could've 'coincidently forgotten,' than Oliver would have to get in touch at least once more. There was too much generosity in that man's kind heart, the coffee that he'd left for Connor just another reason why he wasn't very good at playing it cool, and he was almost positive that this would work.

 

Maybe they could meet up for dinner, he thought as he set it down hesitantly on the floor, trying to make it look as though it might've slipped off during the night, or maybe they could spend another hour in the park, kissing like eager teenagers beneath the trees. Anything would've been better than living with the fact that he'd possibly changed Oliver for the worse, convinced him the reckless sex was the norm and there wasn't much more to find in the city. It wasn't right, not for everyone- for a second or two, he wondered if it was even right for him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was either smashed and broken at the bottom of a garbage bag, or currently hung up in a pawnshop window, a price tag hanging off the leather band that had left behind a pale ring around his empty wrist. Seven long days had passed, an entire week, and Connor was still patiently waiting for that one text to arrive, 'I found your watch.'

 

A dozen times a day, he'd pull back his coat sleeve and look down with the expectation of knowing when the next class would begin, when his first break ended, how long until their work-day was finished and he could finally go home. What he was met with, every single time, was a few freckles on the untanned section of his arm where his watch used to sit. Following the recollection of it's absence, he'd sigh and peer around the room for a clock, slip his phone from his pocket, or bug the person next to him.

 

Standing in an overly-crowded coffee-shop, in line behind at least half a dozen caffeine-dependent and sleep deprived students, Connor practiced his failure once more, tugged his sleeve back, and remembered that he hadn't lost it, left it at home, or slipped it into his backpack. Sighing, he tiredly dropped his arm and reached for his phone; eleven in the morning, and he didn't have class until three. Four hours to kill, and very little enthusiasm to spend it doing homework or reading case files.

 

"Sir?" The barista called out, trying desperately to get Connor's attention- he'd been distracted, absently following the line but his mind was crowded and full.

 

At random times throughout the day, as he brushed his teeth or during an important lecture, the thoughts would come back like a wave without warning; hazy images of Oliver, wondering where he was or what he'd been doing, if he'd gone out and explored the idea of one-night stands or simply stayed at home, deciding that he was better than that lifestyle and better than Connor. A wide smile re-appeared unwillingly in his dreams, the same song lyrics threatening his sanity as they refused to be shaken, a voice like that of an angel causing him to feel both happy and sad, wondering how that could be possible.

 

A second time, she attempted to wave, "Sir- can I help you?"

 

"Oh, hold on," He muttered and attempted to focus, and yet it was becoming a challenge that grew with each passing day. Staring up at the board above the register, Connor quickly began to scan the sizes and prices, the flavors and options of whip-cream and cinnamon, if he wanted caramel, vanilla, or Oliver.

 

_Oliver?_

 

Across the room and hidden in the corner of the café, Oliver sat sporting a large pair of headphones wrapped over his ruffled hair, his hands typing rapidly away at the keys of an expensive laptop, and a large silver watch bouncing along his wrist with each tiny movement he'd made. It didn't take a second look to know that it was his watch, it's familiar dark rim around the silver base, complimented by a worn leather strap that closed with a metallic buckle.

 

It took more effort to tear his eyes away than Connor would've liked to admit, and the barista appeared downright pissed-off when he finally met her stare, "Two medium regulars, thanks."

 

Rolling her eyes, the woman behind the bar was abashed at how long he'd taken to come to that conclusion, and turned to hastily grab a couple paper cups. Connor, however, didn't notice- he was busy staring past her, over her shoulder and behind the bar; Oliver hadn't looked up, completely consumed by the screen, his lips moving ever-so-slightly as he mouthed along to a song. The coffee cup beside his computer was empty, and might've been for a while as he seemed to look overly comfy and settled in.

 

Flustered and nervous at just the sight of the man who'd been on his mind since the last time they'd shared a smile, he swallowed down the apprehension and stared straight ahead, wandering towards Oliver's table.

 

"Hey," He stammered out, but to his surprise, Oliver didn’t look up, didn't even notice- he couldn't pick up a thing, the music from his headphones so loud that Connor could hear it from a foot away, watching as his eyes remained glued to the screen and his fingers danced across the keyboard.

 

With a small laugh, a bit of the jitters faded and he pulled back the chair on the other side of the table, setting down the coffee and waiting- a second passed before Oliver noticed a figured behind his laptop, and struggled to look away from whatever it was he'd be doing just to determine who'd invaded his space.

 

"What-" Oliver began to complain, but the moment his gaze lifted, the annoyance spread over his expression immediately dissipated; startled and wide-eyed, his eyes travelled from Connor's grinning face to the second coffee cup he was now setting down beside the laptop, "What- what for?"

 

Shrugging and leaning casually back in the chair, Connor pushed the cup towards him and lifted his eyebrows, "It's a trade offer."

 

"Why?" Oliver's face distorted for a minute while he attempted to figure out what the hell Connor was talking about, "What're we trading?"

 

"My watch for that coffee," Connor commented, and found himself amused by the sudden blush that rose quickly to the other man's cheeks, an instant embarrassment evident in the way that he peered down at the watch on his wrist, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it doesn't look good on you, but-"

 

Oliver was unclasping it with shaky fingers, mortified to have been caught doing something he shouldn't have, obviously not one to break the rules, "I'm so sorry, I should've called you."   
 

Sipping at his coffee and enjoying the entertainment of Oliver attempting to ramble his guilt away, Connor laughed whole-heartedly, shaking his head, "It's not really that big of a deal- I probably deserved it."

 

The watch, the same one he'd been pining over, didn't seem that important compared to the person no longer wearing it; Oliver was red in the face as he held it out for Connor to grab, "I swear that I wasn't trying to steal it, I just- I was waiting."

 

"Waiting?"

 

"Don't be mad," Oliver was basically begging now, and Connor couldn't have found this entire situation funnier, "I wanted to save it until a night when I…when I missed you. I mean, I always miss you. Shit, that isn't what I meant. What I'm trying to say is, a night when I really wanted to see you, more than I usually do, 'cause I knew you'd come over, and-"

 

The confession caused Connor's heart to race, no longer laughing, "Seriously?"

 

"Like I said, don't be mad," He was holding his head low, evidently not having planned on admitting that sensitive bit of information. To miss someone, was that what Connor had been feeling? The nights he'd spent alone were often filled with a full mind, consisting mostly of contemplating whether or not to text first, whether he could just show up at the apartment door with a bag of take-out and make everything okay. More than anything, he just wanted to wake up where ever Oliver was.

 

"I, uh, I'm not," Connor's voice softened, less confident and taken aback, "You missed me?"

 

Trying to look anywhere but back at Connor, he stumbled hesitantly over his own words, "I know that's not what you want to hear, I thought I could play it off- I just figured the next time I saw you would be the last, and I was saving it."

 

"Let's agree, right now, to stop assuming that every time we see each other, it'll be the last," Connor spoke more genuinely than usual, because he'd been acting with the exact same naivety- the only reason he'd ever left behind the watch was for the purpose of seeing Oliver one last time, sharing one more conversation, smile, story, whatever it might've been that could've gotten him through another day.

 

It seemed that Oliver was struggling to compute, not sure what to say or do, confused at the sudden change and curious as to what it was that he'd done to change Connor's stubborn mind. The coffee that he'd set down made it's way beneath his palms before he responded with a suspecting tone all the while looking over the rim of his glasses, "What're you saying?"

 

"Don't give me that look," Connor laughed softly and leaned foreword over the table, reading his mind without much effort; the question was obvious behind his suspiciously risen eyebrows, "I don’t 'date.' But, say you were hungry, I'd ask you to go for lunch with me. So, are you? Hungry?"

 

It was Oliver's turn to amuse himself with Connor's unsteady voice, never knowing if he was taking things too far or if he'd said the wrong thing; teasing him for a moment with silence, he kept his eyes stuck on him while he sipped at the freshly brewed coffee, a smile tugging at his lips, "I guess I could eat. It's a d-"

 

"Don’t say it."

 

"Date."

 

An exaggerated groan came in an immediate response, but he didn't bother denying it, didn't bother fighting Oliver on the outcome; he grabbed the laptop case from the back of his chair and began to pack his numerous electronics away, all the while sporting an overly-proud smile that could both simultaneously annoy Connor and take his breath away- this was exactly what he'd missed, and neither wanted to let it go. Heading out of the coffee shop and back onto the streets, a heaviness had been lifted from both men's chests, and while neither said so, found themselves walking with a skip in their step.

 

The epitome of Philadelphia could be found anywhere- food trucks parked themselves on every corner, every day, sometimes twenty four seven for those who found themselves wandering around the streets at three in the morning, drunk and aching for a cheesesteak. In other states, it was literally labelled the Philly Cheese Steak as if some sort of classic menu item, but here in the city, they just called it lunch.

 

Wrapping his hands around the monstrosity he'd just purchased, Connor bit into his sandwich and moaned- god, it'd been a while, far too long. The sauce dripped down his chin, and Oliver stared over as if contemplating using his own napkin to wipe it from his skin- on second thought, he didn't want to push the 'date' aspect over the edge.

 

"You know," Connor began, after they'd found a bench to sit and people-watch while enjoying a meal that should've just been called 'a heart-attack.' If it did kind of feel a whole lot like a date, he wasn’t going to admit it willingly, "You kind of suck at the one-night thing. You left me a coffee- thanks, by the way, but that's not usually protocol."

 

A laugh escaped Oliver's lips, a sweet sound that Connor couldn't get enough of and constantly caught himself wondering if he ever would, "I had to work, and figured you'd be tired. I'm not heartless."

 

"Heartless? You're basically a mom," Connor teased, nudging their shoulders together; a long couple minutes was spent with their eyes on each other, appreciating everything about the way their day had turned out, stuck in some sort of bliss-induced haze- it wasn't until he'd had the urge to lift his palm onto Oliver's knee, for no reason in particular other than a sense of comfort, that he forced his gaze away, "What would've been ever nicer is if there was somewhere to sit- it's creepy, walking around an apartment that’s only piece of furniture is literally a mattress. No box spring, two white pillows, and a single sheet. It's like the embodiment of OCD, opposite of hoarders."

 

Sighing aloud, Oliver knew he was right- it was a bit daunting, "I know, I know- how long did you say you had until class starts?"

 

"Few hours," Connor spoke through a messy bite of what was mostly cheese, and noticed that Oliver didn't seem all that bothered by his lack of proper manners, "Why?"

 

-

 

Something that he'd never done before, doubted that he'd ever have to do- walking through the aisles of a furniture store, shopping for a couch. As a kid raised by parents who worked hard for their money, they'd always hired home stagers and decorators, his mother determined to make their house look as though it belonged on the page of a home and style magazine. When he'd  eventually moved out, found an apartment, it was his sister who had ordered everything for him, and all that he'd done was wait for a U-Haul to show up outside and point the movers around.

 

There apparently was an etiquette that he wasn't taught in his younger years, however. Throwing himself down into the cushions as if coming home after a long day, Oliver turned to find him with his arms over the back and looking all too comfy, "Connor!"

 

"What?" He looked up with no shame, patting the cushion beside him and making no effort to move from the seat; shaking his head, Oliver was nervously peering around the store as if waiting for a staff member to tell them off, "Gotta try it before you buy it."

 

Eventually, after realizing that Connor wasn't going to get up until he'd given his honest opinion, he surrendered his sense of class and flopped down next to him; the cushions felt as though they belonged on a bed, filled with soft cotton and forcing them to fall into each other, "Too much fluff."

 

"Alright," Connor nodded, stood up, walked three feet over, and lowered himself onto a dark leather three-piece that would've fit inside the corner of his room like a puzzle piece, "What about this one?"

 

Without even having to sit down, Oliver knew it wouldn't work out- that wasn't to say that Connor didn't look nearly model-perfect against the dark leather material, "I can't pass out on something like that- bad habit, but I'm a sofa sleeper."

 

A few more sofas brought along mixed reviews, until they'd both spotted the same piece at what seemed to be the exact same moment. Both walked over and settled down into the corners, and a sigh of relief brought them to similar conclusions, but it was Connor who commented, "I could see us, like, watching the entire Die Hard series on this- how's it so damn comfortable?"

 

The question of how it'd been made so well wasn't what Oliver had taken from that statement, his head turning abruptly to Connor, who hadn't thought twice about what he'd said. Not until he'd seen the look that he was currently being flashed, and finally realized that he'd blurted out 'us,' and not 'you.' Us, as in he'd be back at the apartment. Us, as in he wanted to do more than hook up after the sun fell. Us, because he'd actually considered the two of them a pair, enough that he was willing to choose a DVD over sex.

 

"Yeah," Oliver nodded, smiling a little as Connor attempted to cover for his slip-up by pushing himself up from the sofa and checking out the price tag; if this wasn’t a date, then he didn't know if he'd ever been on one before, "What're they asking?"

 

Just before Connor began to read off the price, the first number reminded him of the time- with his watch back on his wrist, he pulled back his sleeve and fell quickly into panic mode, "Oh, shit- I've got class in ten minutes. I gotta run, literally."

 

Frowning at what could've been a very good excuse to leave, he nodded along without much enthusiasm; this was where it always ended, a reason to take off with no such thing as a follow-up plan or a confirmation, "No worries. Well, thanks for lunch."

 

Just before he'd gone running towards the exit, Connor seemed to remember something, his lips curling up and leaving a tiny dimple on his right cheek. With a spin on his heels, he caught the way that Oliver was no staring absently down at the sofa, as if contemplating whether what just happened had been genuine, "Not the last time, I promise. Just- get a couch, alright?"

 

Deciding that if Oliver had to categorize Connor as a mistake, he'd certainly be his favorite one. It took a minute for him to find his own voice through the surprise of the assurance he'd been left with, and by the time he'd cleared the lump from his throat, the door was swinging open and closed, the chime of a bell playing as he left. Searching out a store employer, there was no denying that no matter how many more sofas he might sit on, it wouldn’t change the fact that he'd end up buying Connor's choice  in the end.

 

There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd pass up a movie night, and if a five hundred dollar couch helped him to coerce Connor into an actual date, he'd buy it. Maybe he'd have to use his Visa card, spend a few extra days paying it off, but the idea of sharing a bowl of butter-flavored popcorn and a too-small blanket made the whole concept seem more than worthy.


	5. Chapter 5

 "You can't be serious. What happened?"

 

 

Eavesdropping was a hidden talent of Connor's, a skill that came in handy in some aspects of life, and in others just encouraged his unwelcome curiosity. With his ear turned towards the two college students sitting a row in front of him, he leaned with his elbows on the desk and listened as one woman spoke with tear-filled eyes and a shaken voice, "I don't know, really- I went over, and he had this look on his face."

 

 

A sympathetic look from her friend caused the woman to stifle a cry, upset and wrapping their hands around each others as she furthered her story, "Now that I think about it, though, he'd been giving me this look for a couple months. Then, before I'd even set my purse down, he told me it was- it was over."

 

 

Trying not to act overly interested, Connor caught sight of the students looking around the room and nervously brushed back his hair, attempting to seem interested in whatever was written on the board. A minute went by before she was able to summon the confidence to continue, "So, now I'm stuck going to pick up all my stuff while he's at work, like some sort of coward who doesn't even have the courage to help me leave. A year- an entire year, and this is what I'm left with."

 

 

"You know," She was mumbling through wet eyes and a lump in her throat, and Connor could almost feel her pain, although he'd never quite been in the same position, "It started out so good. Like, we weren't even planning on anything serious, he just started inviting me over, and then one thing led to another and there we were, sharing a bed and cooking meals and- and- and how could I have been so damn stupid? I should've never let things go this far, I could've prevented this."

 

 

It was her supportive friend that began to immediately comfort her with soothing words, but that was when Connor had stopped listening- he was suddenly being hit by an overwhelming rush of 'what that hell have I done?'

 

 

They'd started with casual invitations, like every other couple on earth, nothing more than a make-shift date or meeting up for coffee or a sandwich. Maybe some were more foreword than others, but no matter how it started, it always came to an end. There was simply no way around it, no possible outcome of any two given people letting their mutual attraction remain simple and easy to deal with. No, because that wasn't how real life worked.

 

 

What if, in reality, it was inevitable to avoid all good things coming to an end? Oliver was a good thing, the greatest 'thing' he'd had in years- they'd only known each other for less than a month, and now he'd begun to crave the scent of his skin, ache for the curves along his back, shoulders, thighs. It wasn’t only the physical; whenever his mind would drift off, daydreams often consisted of stories he'd told and that laugh, sounding so contagious and sweet, like a record he'd kept on repeat, listening to a song that never grew old. It had to, eventually, grow old.

 

 

They knew so little about each other, and yet he wanted to learn so much more; where he came from, his passions and dreams, what caused him to tick. But that kind of progress took time, hours transitioning into days, turning into months- it would surely pass by like a breeze, the clock no longer relevant when their lives became twisted into one as they shared space on the mattress, in the shower, dancing around the kitchen and losing themselves in favor of the other.

 

 

It'd lead to talking about nothing and everything, caring little about what they were missing outside the apartment because everything they wanted and needed was staring right back at them, holding each other to never be alone again. It was inescapable that they'd end up letting out the secrets kept locked up until they knew more about the other person than they'd ever thought plausible, whispering confessions into the late hours of the night and choosing conversation over sleep.

 

 

Choosing love over sleep.

 

 

There was a chance he might fall in love. What if Oliver already had?

 

 

A steady vibration brought him from a place in his mind that he didn't often go, the part of his mind that convinced him there was a problem. It was his phone, tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans, and Connor shook himself from a stupor before dragging his finger across the screen.

 

 

It was a picture that had been sent, a bit blurry as if he'd been excited to show it off- placed in front of a large window and those familiar white walls, Oliver had sent him a photo of the new couch, the one he'd convinced him was perfect. On it, Connor saw that there was a stack of DVD's, a laptop, and two packs of ramen noodles. A caption below read, 'I hope you aren't busy tonight.'

 

 

Panic suddenly held a personal definition to Connor, a sudden and uncontrollable fear rose up through his body, a hammer bashing against the inside of his ribs and causing him the need to run and hide- there was no where to hide, no reason for it as he sat shaking behind a desk. It was as though the roof above his head was slowly caving in on the entire class, and not a single person noticed but him, no one cared. Now a challenge that he'd never faced, the process of inhaling and exhaling complicated without explanation, the ability to breath taken away as he stared down at such a simple photograph.

 

 

It was barely a text, and yet it meant everything. This implied more than Oliver could've realized- if he were to come over, stay the night, watch movies and share noodles, would that lead to breakfast in the morning? And after, their texts would become longer, more defined, more caring. Another week, and they'd be forced into concern when the other didn't answer, burdened by worry when too long went by without communication.

 

 

This was where it began- however, there was no indication of when it would end, how or if it would destroy him, break his heart or shatter his sanity. Deciding that it was only safe to stub out any flame that had been lit, well before it became disastrous and burned down all the walls that he'd built, Connor's fingers hesitantly clicked the screen until he'd written out, 'So much homework, can't make it.'

 

 

-

 

 

"A double," Connor muttered to the man who's nights were spent solving stranger's dilemmas with shots of vodka, watching with tired eyes as the clear liquid filled the glass and slid across the bar counter towards him, "Cheers."

 

 

Taunting ideas had been weighing him down since he'd left campus, since he'd realized that the promise he'd made wasn't something he could keep. It was a commitment said amidst emotions of desire and admiration, each time he looked at Oliver a sense of excitement moving him towards stating things he never had before. It was as if he were drunk on his influence, on that smile and his admirable presence, causing him to blurt out honesties that usually were kept hidden.

 

 

Now, he was just getting drunk.

 

 

"Connor, right?" A man, one that he recognized but couldn't quite remember why, sat down next to him; his eyes trailed with interest over his body, noticing his evident state of dismay, "It's Mark, if you'd forgot- you look like you could use another drink."

 

 

"Oh," Connor stammered out, he had forgot- that night, the night they'd flirted until his eventual disappearance, he'd been thinking about Oliver and not much else. Nothing was different as he tried to shake those memory's from his head, meeting Mark's provoking gaze, "You know- I've got a couple drinks back at my place."

 

 

They exchanged a look that both knew what meant, what was implied, what was in store for the rest of their night. It didn't take a second thought on Mark's part before he was nodding, leaning closer to Connor and whispering something about getting a cab, that he'd pay if it meant they got back to a bedroom quicker. It was everything that Oliver wasn't- Connor didn’t feel overpowered by passion, he wasn't shaking with excitement or suddenly nervous at the idea of touching, there was no unexpected kiss that brought his heart beat to an ultimate high. This was the opposite of commitment, in no sense was it romantic- this was what he wanted.

 

 

The next few hours passed by in a numb haze- they hurried into a yellow car, somewhat silent because conversation wasn't important to Mark, wasn't supposed to matter to Connor either. Everything felt a bit empty, empty like he preferred his interactions to be, empty like the way that being without Oliver made him feel.

 

 

As soon as they'd pushed the apartment door open, it happened as it always had- he could smell the alcohol, he could see the hunger in Mark's eyes, and they never did end up having a drink. There was little eye-contact, barely anything said but grunts and moans. At one point, Mark whispered, "Are you happy?"

 

 

The question was vague, not meant to be caring or friendly but just simply assuring himself that this was mutual, and while Connor had been playing along and taking what he could from it, he wasn't happy. If anything, he was detached, indifferent.

 

 

Rolling over, he noticed that Mark was already getting up, "You're leaving?"

 

 

An odd expression stretched over Mark's face, as if to say 'why wouldn't I be?' They hadn't even fallen asleep, had barely shared the bed for more than thirty minutes or maybe less. For a moment, he considered offering him a beer, asking him to stick around, but it would've been pointless. The whole idea of this had been to avoid a commitment, to ignore attachments and responsibility; he didn't want to feel obligated to please anyone, only himself, because that's when his walls would stay intact.

 

 

Not bothering to move from where he was leaning against a stack of pillows, hands behind his head, he watched as Mark redressed in the dark- the view was brightened only by the lights from outside, a halo around his figure as he pulled up the zipper on his jeans. For a moment, he began to walk towards Connor, maybe to kiss him goodbye, thank him for a good night, but stopped a foot before the bed. It was his wallet that had fallen to the floor, and he was only reaching down to pick it up.

 

 

"I'll see ya around," He winked, but they both knew they wouldn't. There'd be no reason to see each other again, having accomplished what both were striving for that night, successful in their attempts. A way to release a bit of stress, the same reason he'd gone to the bar the night he'd met Oliver and that voice, the one that kept him awake and simultaneously put him to sleep.

 

 

The door shut with a quiet slam, and the apartment was empty once again, just how he preferred it to be. Empty, like his life, like his relationships, like sex had always been. Only, a small part of it had already been filled, consumed by Oliver's influence, and Connor was slowly realizing now that it was irreversible. A piece of him had been taken, changed, and forced back inside of him until there was no turning it back into its formerly blank state.

 

 

No average Mark could unfill it, could erase Oliver from his core, from his soul where he'd squirmed his way into with those soft eyes and wide smile. What was done had been done, and lying in bed as he staring up at the ceiling with a lump caught in his throat, Connor's palms felt dirty and lips polluted. The musty smell on his sheets was far from comforting, the remaining burn in his bones wasn't warm, wasn't what he'd hoped it to be.

 

 

The bed felt abandoned, and Connor was burdened with guilt, letting his arm fall to his side and wishing that someone was there. Not Mark, not another stranger, but Oliver- he wasn’t beside him, however, but at home wondering why he'd been promised something that no longer seemed genuine. That couch he'd purchased would be slept on alone, the movies he'd bought surely unwatched and tucked beneath the only piece of furniture he now owned.

 

 

"Shit," Connor swore to himself, lifting his fingers to wipe his blurry eyes; they'd been wet, but he wasn't exactly sure why, wasn't used to the discomfort and ache that had followed. Reaching over the bed, he grabbed his phone and held it over his face, failing to overlook his broken reflection in the black screen. A moment passed as he tried to distinguish who it was he was looking at, why that hadn't gone at all like he'd planned, or after he'd gotten what he wanted did he still feel scared, afraid.

 

 

The fear had initially arisen because he'd been terrified of falling for Oliver, losing himself in a relationship that could end up in pieces, but that wasn't it. It was because of the risk, the risk of finally finding happiness in something, a joy that might eventually be taken away from him. With shaking fingers and a heart beating much too fast, he blinked another tear from his view and scrolled through his contact list, landing on Oliver. A sense of hope was all that he had as he clicked on the green button and pressed the phone to his ear.

 

 

"H-hello?" The voice sounded dazed, as if being pulled from a deep sleep; Connor forgot to reply for a moment, as Oliver was the only person he'd wanted to hear and there he still was, answering his calls without hesitation; he'd wished that it had been him beneath his body that night, him who was crying out with pleasure and bliss, "Is- is anyone there?"

 

 

"Oliver," Connor finally managed to stammer out, sounding choked and on the verge of a break-down as his cheeks became damp once more, "I need to see you."

 

 

Seconds of pure torture went by in silence, listening to the hollow sounds of the others breathing until Oliver seemed to recognize the panic in his tone, the desperation coming from the speaker. It was as if he'd immediately understood, forcing himself awake while responding with little doubt, "Okay, alright, I'm unlocking the door. I'll make you a coffee, just- just come right in."


	6. Chapter 6

Walking down the dimly lit apartment hallway, there was not a bump or a bang to be heard, but the beating inside Connor's chest was louder than ever before. There wasn't a thing that could seem to calm him, or so he'd thought; it wasn't until he reached Oliver's door that he remembered why it was so easy around him, why he'd made that careless promise in the first place.

   
  


A slight push was it all it had taken to find himself slipping through the frame, quiet as he peered around the familiar room and found that only one light was turned on, a brightness emitting from entrance to the kitchen. The rhythm was all the he needed to hear to level his spinning head, and for a minute, he didn't make his presence known.

   
  


"I hang up and you call, we rise and we fall," Oliver was singing softly while his footsteps travelled the floor, barely projecting but there was no radio behind his voice, nothing to distract him from the melody, "And we've both still got room left to grow."

 

  
Growing was something that Connor was slowly realization came in moderation, apparently learned from bad experiences and mistakes. With noiseless steps, he wandered closer to the kitchen in order to get a better view; sweatpants were hanging low on Oliver's waist, his chest uncovered and his back facing the doorway while he sung, "And though love sometimes hurts, I'll still put you first-"

   
  


"Oliver," Connor blurted out after a second of apprehension, lingering in the archway leading to the kitchen. The responding gasp and spin caused him to blush, not having meant to scare him into momentarily silence, "Sorry- uh, I just walked in."

   
  


It didn't take more than a few seconds before Oliver had taken in and recognized his broken composure, his gaze catching sight of Connor's stained cheeks and red eyes, the way his hands still shook with stress. With immediate concern stretching over his expression, he abandoned the coffee filter on the counter and turned, "Connor, what is it- are you okay?"

   
  


If 'okay' could be defined as an overwhelming sense of confliction, both wanting to confess and aching to keep his secret in order to avoid the inevitable response that would follow, than he was just fine. The look that he was being conveyed, caught between sympathy, concern, and admiration- he didn't want that to change, didn't want it fade to anger. Lying came naturally to Connor, but it wasn't as simple when the trust that Oliver put in him was immeasurable, like every word that rolled off his tongue was a blessing.  
  


 

That trust wouldn't remain for much longer.  
  


 

Deciding that the truth could wait, he watched while Oliver's worry transition to delight as he took unafraid steps across the tiled floor, closing the space between them- with one hand gripping the small of his bare back and the other wrapped behind his neck, he pulled them into each other and met his lips with relief that spread through his body like a flame burns a branch. A short second passed while Oliver struggled to respond, but it was as if he'd been waiting for it too, craving the intensity and closeness that they'd both aching to feel again.  
  


 

The warmth beneath Oliver's light touch brought a thrill to his cool skin, slipping beneath his t-shirt and trailing along his chest as if exploring it for the first time. It always seemed like the first time with them, like there was more to be discovered with each brush, caress, collision. Breathing in the sweet-scented cologne, just barely there but still intoxicating, he pulled back and let his head fall against his shoulder.

 

An uncertain proclamation was caught silent behind Oliver's lips, only able to say 'Connor, I-' before suddenly cutting himself short- there was no doubt in his mind of what he was trying to express, scared to let it slip from his thoughts, and finished for him, whispering into the bareness of his skin, "I missed you, too."

   
  


Pulling away from each other, it'd been almost impossible to meet Oliver's genuine stare, the look that he so often gave Connor as if there was so much he could've said and yet it was all too soon. What eventually slipped out was a question he'd been dreading, "Why didn't you come earlier?"

   
  


"I was…" Connor began but quickly trailed off, recalling the night with a slight sense of distaste. It stung like a bad hangover, a pounding behind his skull, aching to forget everything that happened but there was no way to do so. There was so much that Oliver had managed to change about him in their brief time of knowing the other, including the way that he now felt tainted after a lapse in judgement, something that never would've crossed his mind beforehand. With his eyes glued to the floor beneath his feet, he continued reluctantly, "I was freaking out, about this, about us. I've never really done this, anything close to it really. But avoiding you wasn't worth it, and you are. You're worth it."

 

  
Shock was obvious in Oliver's initial reaction, lifting his hand to Connor's jaw to tilt his face up until he was looking back into his eyes, a shiver travelling down his spine, "What are you so scared of?"

   
  


Commitment, rejection, responsibility, all summed up and equivalent to, "Falling- for you."

   
  


A smile, wide and sincere, caused Connor's fear and uneasiness to disappear as if it'd never burdened him in the first place. Everything about Oliver seemed to bring him back down to earth, and at the same time, send him higher than he'd ever felt before, elated and euphoric. Savoring the confession, his grin didn't fade while they shared a look of understanding, a mutual infatuation, "I'm glad you changed your mind, because- well, I think the sofa really brought the room together. What do you think?"

   
  


With a load off his mind, a weight from his shoulders, Connor laughed freely and without a doubt in his mind that this feeling was happiness; Oliver flipped the switch on the wall and the overhead bulbs lit up, showing off what could only be described as ridiculous. Surrounded by an immaculate room, a couch sat directly in the center, the only other furniture piece in the room being the ottoman that sat directly in front. Laughing even harder, he wandered into the room and looked around dramatically, "Wow, yeah, um- you know this looks insane, right?"

   
  


"I do," Oliver beamed proudly, holding his arm out as if presenting, "I could definitely pull off the whole serial-killer shtick with this set-up. But, it's your sofa. I mean, the one you picked in the store. So?"

   
  


"I don’t know," Connor's tone was surprisingly suggestive, slowly nearing the sofa as he waved Oliver towards the center of the room, "Can we- just to make sure, of course- test it out?"

 

  
Lips curling upwards, Oliver raised his eyebrows and walked slowly, painfully slow, came closer to him until they were inches apart. Neither looked away, their gaze never drifting from the other as their fingers wandered along eager bodies, causing breath to become short in aticipation. This must be it, Connor thought as his eyes said more than they could talk and the beating rhythm wasn't just his heart but Oliver's too, this must be heaven.

   
  


Some sort of lovely mess, that's what this feeling was.  
  


 

"I want you," Oliver mumbled as the distance between their lips became little to none, his warm sigh so close and sending fireworks through Connor's entire being, "God, I need you."

   
  


Reaching down, he kissed the smooth skin beneath his jaw before pushing gently against his shoulders, Oliver bracing himself as he fell backwards into the couch cushions. It was the blush growing over his cheeks while he stared up at Connor that made him confident there wasn't a bit of dishonesty in his words, and he needed him too, wanted everything that he could offer, that he could give.

   
  


Bit by bit, he let his sight travel over Oliver's legs, chest, shoulders, the excitement killing him in the best way possible- climbing on top of him with wide eyes, driven by an emotion that he couldn't quite place yet, Connor let his lips leave marks beneath the hair on his stomach and just above the waistband, over his chest and up his neck. The hint of a moan set butterflies loose inside him, a fluttering anticipation causing him to sigh out in pleasure.

   
  


"You're so god damn beautiful," He'd said before even realizing those words had left his mouth, never having admitted something so real, voiced a thought so personal; it was Oliver that couldn't handle himself after that, wrapping his palms around Connor's shoulders and pulling him down, their lips crashing into each other, tongues dancing and fingers tangled in each other's hair.

   
  


There was no radio or CD's, but a tune was playing in Connor's head, not a real song but just a harmonious realization that he was enticed, that they're movements, passion, fervor- it brought along it's own beat, a soul shaking measure that made it all seem musical. Like the perfectly played notes on a piano, or lyrics that just seemed to fit together like poetry, Oliver in himself was a song.

 

  
Pushing himself back onto his knees and between Oliver's thighs, Connor nodded down and the other lifted his legs, working together without a word because words weren't necessary when their actions played out so naturally, so comfortably. Sweatpants slipped beside the sofa, and Connor fell back on top, letting his hand roam down further until he was gasping for air, crying out at the slightest embrace.

   
  


On and on, no amount of contact seemed to be enough, and Connor swore he could've done this forever. They rolled over the other, back and forth, not minding that the sofa offered little room because the closer they could be, the better it all felt. Not an inch of his skin was left untouched by the others, sweat beading down their bodies as they entangled themselves, as if two were becoming one.

   
  


For the first time in Connor's life, he wasn’t scared to stare back into Oliver's wide eyes, didn't feel the need to look away. This was unknown to him, the city lights pouring in through the window while they faced each other, Oliver's legs wrapped around his waist, his back against the cushions. Lifting him up towards his chest and onto his lap, they rolled against one another, only pulling their lips apart when crying out sighs of ecstasy.

   
  


It wasn't said aloud, but Oliver preferred things slow, and Connor was doing just that. Each thrust was drawn out to the point of delirium, his grip tight around his hips as he coerced him up and down, back into him. A barely-there growl slipped from his lips, reaching the edge of holding it together, running circles in his brain.

   
  


"Oh, Ollie- right there," Connor moaned, his fingers tightening around the fabric of a cushion, just barely biting his neck while they gradually sped up. Teeth against skin seemed to push Oliver closer and closer, scratching faint lines up Connor's back while they both lost themselves in the last minute, words becoming inaudible and yet hot nonsense.

   
  





   
  


Coffee grounds still sat unmade in the kitchen, and clothes stayed exactly where they were best kept- on the floor. Nothing else sounded important, the only thought process in their minds stuck on the other, how Oliver could make him feel, what he could do, the way he could whisper a low and pleading 'harder' into his ear and send him over the brink of sanity. 

 

The question came out of nowhere, or so it would've seemed to Oliver; what Connor had been silently considering was the idea of knowing more, learning more, "What's your last name?"  
  


 

A look of confusion was what he'd expected, not surprised when Oliver's eyebrows furrowed and he peered up from where his head was laying on Connor's chest, "W-what, why?"

   
  


"Just," Connor persisted, letting his fingers glide over the dampness of his skin as he took it all in, "Tell me."

   
  


"Hampton."

   
  


"Cute. What're your parents names?"

   
  


For a moment, he was eerily quiet, and Connor was almost positive he'd gone too far. Family could be a touchy topic, one that he didn't exactly prefer to discuss, but Oliver was such a mystery, one that he was dying to unfold, "Uh- Adalyn and Julius. I haven't seen them in a long time."

   
  


He spoke with a lump in his throat that nearly broke Connor's heart, gazing down to find that Oliver wasn't looking up at him any longer, tracing absent circles into his stomach instead. About to change the subject, he was caught by surprise when he continued, "They- they brought me here, when I was like, ten? But, they got off the plane in California, and work hasn't been easy for them. I mean, my tatay basically put everything he'd saved into my school. When I graduated, they'd never seemed happier, but then the only job I could find was halfway across the country, and now it's just further away."

   
  


"Don’t you-"

   
  


"I make crap money," Oliver knew what he was about to ask, and further explained with just a bit of bitterness; Connor didn't interrupt, intent and curious, "This place? It's essentially my entire pay-cheque, every single month. I'd find somewhere cheaper, but…I want them to visit me, some day, you know? And nanay, she's a neat freak- she'd hate to see me in one of those dumps downtown."

   
  


"Nanay?"

   
  


Oliver chuckled lightly, his mood lifting at the memories, "It's funny, I barely learned more than a dozen words in Tagalog, but she's never liked being called mom."

   
  


They smiled at each other for a moment, Connor feeling as though he'd just opened one door of many that were still shut. It was just a small piece of who he was, but with each part, he knew it'd be harder to leave. If he were being honest with himself, there was no leaving Oliver from the day they'd met, he would've found his way back one time or another. It was as if he had a compass built into his inner being, north being Oliver and there was just no other direction to head towards, desperate to find his way home.

 

  
"What about you- what're you afraid of? You seem so…I don’t know, fearless," Connor admitted softly, because while he often showed more confidence than he truly felt inside, there was always something that scared the shit out of him. Maybe this was conquering his terrors, lying here, completely vulnerable and ready to have an actual conversation- it was definitely new territory, untouched grounds, and he was walking with light feet.

   
  


A minute went by as Oliver combed through his mind, trying to figure out an answer that wasn't simply a cop out, "People seeing me, the exact same way I see myself."

   
  


"You can't be serious-"

   
  
He scoffed, "C'mon, don’t pretend like I'm-"

 

"Beautiful? I told you. You are," Connor almost came off as angry, but that wasn't his intention, not really; it was frustration that had suddenly overwhelmed him, wanting nothing more than to make his point perfectly clear to the man who was lying next to him, now staring back down at his toes, "God damn, you're…you're perfect. You do know that, right?"

   
  


When he eventually did lift his head, Oliver noticed something for the first time that night, or maybe he'd noticed it beforehand but chose to ignore the signs. Only, it had been there the whole time- he'd walked in the apartment with damp hair, smelling of fresh shampoo and body wash, and just a hint of guilt behind every word that spilled off his tongue, every kiss that felt more than genuine, every touch he let linger on. It was almost as though his constant appreciation was the result of a mistake he'd made, something that had made him come crawling back to Oliver with the need to feel loved, to give love. The night played out like a daydream, but maybe there was a reason behind that. 

   
  


"Hold on," Oliver was sitting up without warning, leaving Connor confused and cold while he put a distance between them that hadn't been there for the past couple hours; everything felt a bit emptier now that they'd become two again, and while he didn't enjoy it, there was a concern now tugging at his thoughts, "Is something on your mind- like, was class really hard today, or something?"

   
  


Just as he'd expected, Conner suddenly couldn't look at him, couldn't meet his eyes- mumbling something that surely wasn't distinguishable or of any logical sense, he wasn't reaching out for Oliver with open arms, wasn't rushing to defend his mood-change. There was something wrong, a remorseful expression that just didn't add up, and he couldn't help but to voice what was possibly the most disheartening suspicion.

 

The question began to slip from his lips before he could hold anything back, a nervous crack in his voice and sick to his stomach with scepticism, running trembling fingers through his hair, "Holy shit, did you sleep with someone else tonight?"


	7. Chapter 7

"I was born and raised in Grand Rapids, Michigan."

 

It's the first fact that came to mind as he watched in a panic as Oliver scrambled around the room, his face red with anger and frustration while he pulled a pair of sweatpants on and shoved Connor's clothes roughly into his arms, "Get out."

 

There's no eye-contact, no warmth in his tone, but Connor continued with hitched breath and the refusal to walk out the door, "My sister- I have a sister- her name is Gemma. My mom's name is-"

 

"Leave, Connor," Oliver insisted through a lump in his throat, gesturing to the door as he fixed the pillows on the couch, looking for anything to keep his trembling fingers busy, "Seriously, get the hell out of my apartment."

 

"I failed math- grade nine," Connor blurted out, tugging on his boxers but making no move away from Oliver, away from the only person who had ever made him feel the need to share such an embarrassing tidbit of information, "Uh, one time I broke my arm trying to climb a fence, 'cause my ball rolled into my neighbors yard. Dad was pissed."

 

Turning away from the sofa, Oliver was fuming and began to yell with his hands raised, "What the hell-"

 

"My middle name is Irwin," He almost cringed as the name left his lips, having not spoken it aloud in years, often pretending as though he didn't have one from birth. It was easier than admitting that his mom had a horrible lapse of judgment on his birthday, "First crush was Johnny Depp- probably better not to ask."

 

The expression spread across Oliver's face was caught between enraged and extremely confused, practically speechless as he tried to decipher what the hell Connor was trying to accomplish. There was no reason for his outbursts, and there was nothing he wanted more than to decompress from the fact that he'd just been told he was Connor's second partner in the last twenty-four hours, taking it as any other would- not well.

 

Speaking through the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulled it over his head, Connor added a hurried and seemingly random, "Haven't been to the doctor since 09', I know- don’t give me that look, needles actually scare the shit out of me."

 

"Alright, stop," Oliver demanded in a tone so serious that Connor couldn't argue, finally inhaling deeply and catching his breath. There was no denying that he still appeared more pissed-off than ever before, but at least he'd disorientated him, "What are you doing right now? Why are you telling me all this- you need to leave."

 

"What I'm trying to say," Connor answered with a sigh, sitting down on the couch and ignoring the way that Oliver was ready to engulf into temper-induced flames. It was a challenge to note that he'd brought on this madness and fury, wishing he hadn't done a thing but what had happened was done and there was no taking it back, "Is that guy, that stranger- he didn't know me. I didn't know him."

 

A dry laugh slipped from Oliver's lips, heavy with sarcasm and the need to make it clear that he was far from impressed, "Oh, well then, by all means-"

 

Interrupting him, Connor continued with little hope but no desire to give up just yet, "But I know you, and I want you to know me. No one's ever known me. Shit- I want you to trust me."

 

It sounded absurd, he realized that as the words rolled off his tongue, and Oliver wasn't acting fooled for a second. A moment of silence passed while he considered the fact that Connor does know him, maybe not well but more than the average acquaintance, and almost regretted letting it get to that point, "Why would should I trust you, when you sleep with me like I mean something to you, like I'm more than just a one-night stand, when hours before you did the exact same thing with someone else? What are you doing, trying to break a world record- am I just a game?"

 

"Stop it," Connor was nearly begging now, not something he liked to do often or at all- it was only in moments of desperation, and standing across from him was his one in a million, his only exception, "It wasn't like that, with him- he was no one. You're different, and you know it."

 

"So I'm a better lay? Really comforting," Oliver still wasn't meeting his eyes, refusing to near him as he cleaned up the mess they'd made, obviously one to distract himself with pointless tasks when he'd rather clench his fists and break a plate against the floor. The betrayal that he felt was resonating from his very presence, lips tight and eyebrows furrowed, "You know, I wish you'd never forgot your damn watch."

 

"I didn't forget it."

 

It was as if Oliver was trying to burn holes into his skin with the glare that was bearing down on him, like lasers should've been coming from his eyes; the look was, frankly, quite terrifying, "I left it here, because I wanted you to find it. I want you- you're a better everything, and you're better than me, alright?"

 

Another humorless chuckle caused Connor's heart to drop, stomach to flip and head to spin, "You're a liar."

 

"Maybe," Connor agreed without argument, although he didn’t want to, but there was proof against him, proof that he was whatever Oliver saw true. For the first time in a long time, however, the lie had worn on his confidence, left guilt and regret in his subconscious, "But I won't lie to you- not anymore. A chance, one chance, it's all I need."

 

"I walked circles around this place, for hours," Oliver was doing the same now, pacing some invisible track on the hardwood as his words came out staggered and harsh; there was seemingly nothing he could say to bring him back down, soften the fire behind his gaze, "wondering what the hell I did or said that could've made you change your mind. Three in the morning, you called me, and I answered- don’t tell me I haven't given you a chance."

 

With a nod, Connor stood, "And I fucked up- so, one more."

 

The apartment fell silent, the only noise a braid of rooted breath and distant traffic while they shared a stare, speaking through a quiet consideration. No footsteps, Oliver finally came to a stop, his hands falling to his sides in defeat, in surrender. A realization seemed to have landed, reaching the conclusion that while he might've been a liar, he wasn't lying now.

 

"Is your middle name really Irwin?"

 

A warm wave washed the panic from Connor's mind, sighing before his lips curled into a small smile of relief, "Pretty bad, right?"

 

"Pretty bad."

 

Wandering through the arch separating the kitchen from the main room, he'd disappeared behind the wall and Connor followed, aching to know if this meant that he was forgiven, or in the least, given the chance to explain. When he reached the frame, the coffee machine was abuzz with noise, two mugs pulled from the cupboard. Jumping up onto the counter, they sat side by side and waited until the pot had re-warmed enough to pour two fresh drinks. They'd already made memories in this kitchen, both barely blushing at the image of what they'd done against the marble surface, their eyes lingering on the spot where Oliver had lost his composure and Connor had soon followed. It wasn't something you forgot with ease, not a picture you wanted to erase from your mind.

 

Holding a mug out for Connor, Oliver wrapped his fingers around his own and turned; where there had been seemingly irreplaceable anger was now fading to something he'd assumed was curiosity, "What did you mean, when you said that no one's ever known you?"

 

Vaguely, Connor could remember a time when he'd opened up to someone- his sister, she once knew him, but maybe not anymore. So much had changed since they'd last talked about anything other than the weather and upcoming holidays, and even when they had, not much that was said held any importance, there was never much depth to the conversation. If there was a night or two where he'd broken down, let his emotions once buried deep boil over and overwhelm his self control, it had been spent alone. There was no one he'd crave to call, no one to talk too- he'd just let it pass, ride it out, and pretend as though nothing happened when the sun came up. Even when he had, in the past, told someone that normally wouldn't have been said, it almost caused him embarrassment; it must've been the knowledge that no matter how they ended, when they drifted apart, a part of him would be left behind.

 

Sipping at the coffee, he first let the caffeine bring a rush to his tired limbs, to the exhaustion in his brain, "I've had friends, even boyfriends maybe. They knew what I ordered off the menu, where I went to work and what I studied in class, but nothing real. It's what tears down walls, you know? The gritty stuff, the stuff no one wants to hear."

 

The emotion caught behind Oliver's stare was almost more than he could bear as their legs brushed against one another, too much to handle when it was such an authentic interest he was expressing so casually, "I want to hear it- it's not the end of the world to have your walls torn down every once in a while."

 

Forcing himself to look up from the tiles beneath his dangling feet, to meet those eyes that always said more than words could comprehend, it didn't need to be spoken aloud when Connor grabbed his hand- 'show me.'

 

Clearing a nervous lump in his throat, Oliver stared down at where Connor's fingers had laced themselves between his, unsure of why it felt so right, brought a comfort so great that it couldn't be described. No matter what he'd done, his was unexplainably the only touch that could cause his heart beat to skip a step, pounding beneath his chest. It wasn't for another minute did he pull his hand away, but that didn't stifle the overwhelming urge to bury the hatchet- a simple touch and he was no longer thinking about the hours before, only wondering what would follow.

 

"Do you need a ride tomorrow- to class?"

 

Shocked and startled, Connor's eyes widened while he peered over to determine whether or not this was some sort of joke, whether he'd quickly think better of that offer and push him out the door. It never came, the rejection or the reconsideration, "Wait, you mean-"

 

Jumping down from the counter, Oliver poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and began to head back out towards the mattress, nonchalantly adding as he did so, "Last time, you took my side. I sleep on the right."

 

-

 

A stream of water could be heard through the thin walls, like a heavy rain but Connor awoke with a stretch and found that the bathroom door had been shut- Oliver wasn't gone, hadn't run from confrontation, and was simply in the shower. After the night before, he wasn't completely confident that he wouldn't wake up to find that he'd seen the situation in a new light- for a short second, it came to his realization that this would've been the ideal time to sneak off.

 

What followed was a feeling of contentment in knowing that he didn't have to, that it wasn't to be assumed that he'd be gone, and that this was different. This was Oliver Hampton, who wasn't a stranger, who knew that his middle name was uglier than anyone's grandfathers, and who'd slept beside him throughout the night. They'd started with space between bodies, but before Connor had given in to the fatigue, a head was rolling onto his chest, legs falling atop his, hair brushing against his chin- the slight snoring couldn’t even manage to bother him, as he reveled in the closeness and found that it wasn't awful to share a bed when nothing else was implied.

 

The panic that had brought him to the bar last night wasn't there anymore, wasn't burdening his every thought- what instead replaced his fear was the reassurance that while it could come to an end, and very well might have the chance to crash and burn, it was good. For now, this was enough. More than enough, more than he'd ever though he could have,  and it was a happiness that he didn't want to hide from.

 

Pushing himself up from the mattress and nearing the closed door, the mumbling of Oliver's voice was ringing through paper thin walls. Singing, in the shower- not something that Connor would've foreseen in his life, never around long enough to learn whether the people he was with did something so ridiculous, so enticingly sexy. Suggestive images floated through his thoughts, and he let the idea linger while he struggled to fill a filter with coffee grinds, distracted in the most appealing way possible.

 

A creak brought Connor's mind elsewhere, turning from the machine to peek through the frame- his skin was still wet, dark hair damp and slightly spiked, a towel tied low on his hips. Interested and shameless, he leaned against the wall and watched as he crossed the floor and pulled clothes from a box that he'd yet to unpack. Black pants, a white shirt that became translucent when the water stuck to the fabric, a tie draped loosely around his neck; god, he made business casual appear anything but casual.

 

"I made coffee," He grabbed his attention, finding that it was becoming near impossible to watch from a distance, crossing the room as Oliver flashed a tired half-smile.

 

About to thank him, he was caught by surprise when Connor left no time to do so, his palms cupping Oliver's freshly shaved jaw and pulling their bodies together. The toothpaste was still minty on his breath, the shower leaving him smelling like- apple, maybe? A quiet moan was mumbled against his lips as they said good-morning in a way that neither were used to but both seemed to enjoy, wondering if every time would be so new, so refreshing. It was impossible to imagine how he'd gone so long without feeling the sparks with another, the ignition in every bone, racing through his veins- nothing had ever been so satisfying, not until now.

 

The moment he pulled back, although still inches apart, Connor smiled and asked without a second of  trepidation, "When are you done work?"

 

A cock-eyed confusion quickly brought Oliver from his momentary bliss, his head tilting slightly to the side, "Around five- why?"

 

"I'm taking you on a date," Connor informed him, sure that it was easier than asking the question so often asked, seeming so cliché, "A real one, and I wont deny it. Dinner, awkward questions, and I'll even drop you off on your doorstep before midnight."

 

That smile he so often ached to see when it was gone for too long brought a flutter to his chest, and Oliver laughed with a nervous hesitation, hiding a smile beneath his hand, "I haven't been on a 'date' since high school."

 

"And I've never been on a date," He concluded with a confident spin, walking back towards the kitchen and leaving Oliver grinning like a school-girl, like they'd soon be acting tonight, "So it should be interesting."


	8. Chapter 8

The clouds were a definitive sign that this was already a disaster of a night, dark grey and lingering above like an omen. While he'd planned what he assumed was something of a date, the weather had not been something he'd factored in, and Connor stared up at the sky as if he could force it to clear with will power and mind control.

 

Waiting anxiously outside a building that resembled something of a prison, brick walls and a serious lack of windows, everything that he'd done was now in contemplation. The small bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand was starting to seem like overkill, eyeing an alley further down and wondering if that was a good place to leave them, pretend like he'd never bought them in the first place. It was a movie cliché, flowers on the first date, and because Connor had never been on one, he wasn't exactly sure if he was making the wrong move.

 

Looking down at the wilting petals, his panicked gaze then travelled to his own outfit; it'd been what he'd worn to class, not bothering to dress up because what he had in mind didn't require anything nicer than a casual button down and a pair of jeans. But, as he waited for Oliver who was surely still dressed in his business suit, the question floated into mind; should he have planned something classier? No car, no reservations, no tie- if this wasn't a date, Oliver was about to be severely disappointed.

 

In what couldn't have been more than seven minutes, but felt more like an hour, Connor had managed to completely send himself into a frenzy. Just as he ran a hand through knotted hair and tried to imagine what else he could've screwed up, little dark circles began to decorate the cement, and he looked up to find the storm clouds had done their job.

 

"Hey," A voice, Oliver's voice, called as he jogged down the steps of the building he was loitering in front of; Connor flashed a nervous grin, watching as his date looked with a sense of confusion around where he was waiting. Connor grimaced, now realizing that walking was a horrible idea, and yet Oliver didn't look phased for more than a few seconds; instead, he nodded down at the flowers with a small smile and raised eyebrows.

 

"For me? Nice touch," Oliver was teasing, taking the small bouquet with a laugh. It would've been ridiculous of him to be completely over what had happened the night before, his self esteem clearly bruised and forgiveness still verging on the edge, but if he was bitter or resentful, it didn't show.

 

The confession slipped out and he rubbed the back of his neck instinctively, feeling both timid and a tad embarrassed, "The cashier told me I'd need a lot more to make it out of the doghouse."

 

"This'll do," Flashing a playful wink, Oliver was obviously trying to move past what had happened, refusing to make Connor feel guilty at this point, and yet it almost felt like he should've been a little harsher, maybe make him work for it a bit. Looking around as if to determine which direction, he turned back to his date with a curious expression, "It's been a hell of a day. Please say we're going to a bar?" 

 

Nodding towards the closest intersection, Connor decided that there was no way around it now and shrugged, "We're walking."

 

"It's raining."

 

"Yeah," Connor agreed without hesitation, not bothering to shield himself as they stepped out from the overhead of the building and squinted against the weather, "This wasn't part of the plan."

 

Surprise spread quickly across Oliver's expression, and Connor felt both successful and insulted to know that he hadn't been expecting anything. In a way, he should've known that this would've come as a shock- he wasn't exactly the type that screamed romantic, "You planned something?"

 

"Not really," Connor lied, although not completely- this next part wasn't so much a plan as it was a hopeful gesture that he'd be able to convince Oliver of everything he felt that wasn't ever going to come out in words. Like, for example, the fact that he needed this to work even more than he'd wanted to get into law school, or that he'd never met someone who he'd felt the need to buy flowers for, and just maybe this would be the first of many more dates, preferably more than he could count.

 

As the rain tumbled down on them, lightly enough so that they didn't feel like running was a better option than walking, a comfortable silence fell between both men and neither minded, nor tried to fill the quiet. The sidewalks weren't overly busy, and yet they'd brushed against each other once or twice, their hands caressing the others accidently, or maybe that was the goal.

 

A glint of the same excitement and rush that Connor had experienced weeks before came rushing back to him, and it was like he was seeing his date in a new light, like a stranger that had caught his eye, stopped him from thinking for a moment or two about anything other than the idea of love at first sight. Peeking to his right, he couldn't help the quiet laugh that slipped from his lips, and as though he'd read his mind, Oliver looked over while flashing that enticingly shy smile, "It's almost like the first night we met."

 

-

 

"Or, exactly like the first night we met," Oliver' eyes were wide and he spoke through a sense of disbelief, gazing up at the neon sign hanging out front of the bar and shaking his head, trying to figure out if this was a practical joke and waiting for Connor to laugh and point somewhere else, "Are we really doing this?"

 

As Connor eagerly pushed open the familiar doors, a badly and yet enthusiastically sung cover was the first thing that spilled out from the inside, along with drunken chatter and glasses clattering, and he gestured for Oliver to make the first move; it was pouring now, and seemed as though a thunderstorm was nearing in on the city, so with an incredulous look across his fake, he stepped inside and peered around; it was packed, loud, and essentially the exact same as it had been that night they'd stayed until close.

 

"Oh, there," Connor spoke over the music, loudly as he pointed to where a group was abandoning a table right in front of the stage that Oliver had once stood on, the same stage where Connor had first seen those yellow suspenders and heard a voice that he'd previously thought he would never hear in the world's grimiest karaoke bar. They pushed through crowds until they'd made it, literally feet from the platform and in the best, or worst, spot to be. The flowers found a home in the middle of the table, still covered in a couple crumbs and possibly a spilled drink, and Oliver's eyebrows furrowed in concern.

 

"So, we're committed," Oliver was making sure, and Connor wasn't giving in- this wasn't the end of their night, and he wasn't about to bail after he'd gotten this far. The confidence was there, finally, and he wasn't going to waste it. With a shrug, as if he'd finally given up hope of leaving and accepted his fate, he gestured to the bar, "I'll get us a drink. Vodka water?"

 

"Just vodka," Connor responded, feeling as though he was going to need more than one shot but limiting himself for now, "but good memory."

 

"Thanks," Oliver laughed with a hint of sarcasm, and turned to push himself back through the crowd and towards the bar.

 

The atmosphere was the same, and yet completely different. The counter was still run down and greasy, and yet all that Connor could see now was the vision of him and Oliver, bumping shoulders and sharing stories as they harassed the bartender for more and more drinks, not willing to end their impromptu night together until the very last second. The floor was still sticky and unwashed, but it didn't gross him out like it had, because he couldn't help but imagine Oliver walking across the room now, unknowing after he'd tumbled from the stage with red cheeks and a cheeky smile. It was loud, but it'd been just as loud when they'd met, and it hadn't changed a thing. And the bad music, well, it was just about to get a whole lot worse.

 

Peeking over the heads of everyone, Connor could just make out Oliver, standing as he waited for the attention of the bartender, and took the opportunity. Leaving his jacket at the table as a sort of claim on the chairs, he wandered around to the side of the stage and waited- it was only about fifteen more seconds until whoever had been singing finished an off tune rendition of catchy Taylor Swift song, and stumbled towards the stairs, holding the microphone out.

 

Breathing out in a shaky exhale, Connor wished he'd gotten a drink beforehand, but there was no backing out at this point as it was shoved into his open hand and given an encouraging a drunken pat on the back. Feeling as though Oliver suddenly deserved a lot more credit for getting up here without much hesitation, he forced himself up onto the stage and looked out towards the bar.

 

For a moment, as Oliver walked back with both hands full, the expression of both disappointment and disarray caught Connor off guard- he'd assumed he'd been left behind, the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish. Clearing his throat into the mesh ball at the end of the mic, he waited a second as Oliver set the drinks down and looked around, his eyes finally landing on stage.

 

The words 'oh my god,' were very clearly read on Oliver's lips, and Connor flashed a wink as he leaned down to pick a song. As he'd managed to notice the first time he'd been here, the choices weren't very versatile, and yet he'd managed to find one that both summed up the situation and didn't require much vocal skill. Fighting the urge to play it off as a trick and run from the stage, Connor reminded himself why he was doing this; he'd been a dick, and this would essentially be a punishment in itself- not to mention, if anything else, Oliver deserved the chance to laugh at him.

 

The beat started playing through the machine, a song that everyone knew all too well, and at that moment everyone's eye's widened. Some people nudged their friends, some laughed aloud, and Oliver's cheeks brightened so red that even through the dark bar, Connor could clearly tell he was blushing. The only reason this song wasn't chosen was because of this exact reaction, and if he was going to do it, it might as well have been done right.

 

Rolling his hips to the music, Connor lifted the microphone to his lips and knew that it wouldn't sound good, but if he danced like he meant it and sang with the enthusiasm of someone who actually knew how to, it just might work out.

 

"I believe in miracles," He started, his voice shaky and yet bold, and pointed with his free hand across the stage, right towards Oliver, "where you from, you sexy thing."

 

The music echoed the lyrics, and amidst the laughter and encouraging claps, everyone peered to the front of the bar, trying to get an eye on Oliver; being the good sport that he is, and although his skin was cherry red, he pretended to wave everyone off like someone who'd just been complimented. Looking back up to the stage, he shook his head and listened as Connor went on.

 

More self assured than before, Connor sang a little louder this time and leaned foreword into the microphone, like he was performing his own concert, "I believe in miracles, since you came along, you sexy thing."

 

"Where did you come from, baby?" He beamed down at Oliver, who was hiding the bottom half of his face behind his palms now, although his eyes were crinkled with laughter and his cheeks damp, "How did you know, I needed you so badly?"

 

Rocking his hips and enjoying the fact that everyone seemed just as into it as he was, Connor belted out the next verse, carelessly as he could and with more eagerness than the original singer; the lyrics just seemed to fit so perfectly, and although it was cheesy, they made it easier to say what he'd never say on his own accord,"How did you know, I'd give my heart gladly?"

 

By the time he'd made it halfway through, singing aloud that he believed in miracles for the second or third time, some in the crowd were singing and dancing along to the music, just as awfully as he was of course, and most were smiling- none as wide as Oliver, however, who looked equally as flustered as he was impressed. Not impressed with the skill, obviously, but with the fact that he'd even done it in the first place.

 

Just as the instrumental was about to fade back into the lyrics, a large crack of thunder echoed the walls from outside, and the bar went from dimly lit to completely dark in less than a second, and the music was cut off just as the bar's audience collectively groaned. A few emergency lights came back on a second or two later, and Connor's stare met Oliver's the moment the room brightened. They were both itching to see each other, and there was no use in waiting to finish the song now.

 

Ignoring the fact that there was stairs for a reason, Connor let the mic fall from his hand to the stage, making a thump but not loud enough to be heard over the annoyed chatter of the entirety of the bar, and jumped off the front end instead. With a few large strides, he walked up to the table.

 

The smile on Oliver's face couldn't be broken, having to respond through hitched breath and a shaky tone, and Connor assumed that this meant forgiveness, "You're a horrible singer."

 

Taking one more step foreword, noting and disregarding that they were both in public and very surrounded by people, Connor couldn't help himself; he lifted a hand to Oliver's jaw and reached foreword, kissing him before their lips curled into smiles, still pressed together, and faded into laughter. This was it; this is how he'd felt that night, when everything was a blurry rush of disbelief and amusement- it was something like magic, a set of sparks going off beneath their chests, infatuated with the other's mere stare. If he believed in anything, it was that Oliver surely was his miracle, disguised behind a pair of square rimmed glasses and dorky yellow suspenders.

 

"But," Connor countered with a grin, as he leaned back and lifted the untouched shot to his lips, "I'm a really fun date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-m9uG50mSw
> 
> you sexy thing - hot chocolate (if anyone wants to know the song)


End file.
